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Authors: Sharan Newman

To Wear The White Cloak: A Catherine LeVendeur Mystery (7 page)

BOOK: To Wear The White Cloak: A Catherine LeVendeur Mystery
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“I remember.” Catherine started to say more but was interrupted by a knocking at the door.
It had barely ceased when Margaret flew out of the kitchen, where she had been helping Samonie.
“Margaret!” Catherine called after her. “What are you thinking of? Let Martin see who it is.”
The girl paid no attention. They could hear her fumbling with the bar as Martin reached the door. Then there was a small sound of disappointment, and Margaret returned, followed by Martin and the new arrival.
Edgar and Catherine both leaped to their feet and ran to hug the man.
“Astrolabe!” Catherine kissed him. “How wonderful to see you. We were just talking about your father.”
“Margaret!” Edgar called her back sharply. “You haven’t met our guest. Astrolabe is an old friend. He’s the son of Master Peter Abelard and Abbess Heloise of the Paraclete.”
“I was born before she entered the convent.” Astrolabe smiled at the girl.
“Astrolabe,” Edgar went on, “this ill-mannered young lady is my sister, Margaret.”
Blushing, Margaret bowed. “
Dex te saut
, Master Astrolabe. I apologize for not greeting you properly. Catherine has often spoken of her love for your parents and the time she spent under your mother’s care at the Paraclete. Welcome.”
She went into the kitchen but returned a moment later with a wine cup for Astrolabe and a plate of dried meat and cheese.
“Samonie says the soup is ready whenever you want it,” she told Catherine. “Would you mind if I ate with her and then went up to bed? I’m very tired.”
The tension in her frightened Catherine.
“Of course,
ma douz
,” she said. “You need to rest. Tomorrow you’ll be surrounded by small children.”
Margaret gave her a wan smile and left. Catherine resolved to have a serious talk with Edgar soon about his sister’s future.
“Now, Astrolabe,” Edgar said when they were settled and Maurice had been introduced. “You’ve been traveling more than Pope Eugenius lately. I thought you were in Metz. What brings you to Paris?”
“Heresy,” Astrolabe answered. He drained his cup and held it out to be refilled.
The other three gaped at him. Catherine was the first to recover.
“
Endondu!
Whose heresy? Master Gilbert?”
It was Astrolabe’s turn to gape. “The bishop? Of course not! Who’d be fool enough to accuse him? No, it’s these Eonists. I saw them when I was home at Le Pallet visiting my aunt. They’re taking over the countryside in Brittany, and no one seems to be able to control them.”
Edgar crossed himself. “It seems like a madness lately, almost as if people believe the Last Days have come. There are these dualists in Germany and the Occitan, Arnoldists in Rome. Madmen roaming the fields only need to wave their arms to attract disciples, I swear. What do these Eonists preach?”
Astrolabe reached for the cheese. “As far as I can tell, their leader says that he’s the son of God and so his followers can do anything he wants them to. He’s clearly mad.”
“He thinks he’s Jesus?” Maurice couldn’t take this in.
“No,” Astrolabe shook his head. “He thinks he’s ‘
eum
’ as in ‘
per eum.
’ ‘Through him’ shall be judged the living and the dead. He seems to believe that ‘
eum
’ and ‘
eon
’ are the same word.”
Catherine blinked. “And he’s built a sect on this?”
“Quite a large one; I’ve seen it,” Astrolabe said. “There’s a charisma about him. His words are empty, senseless, and yet the poor adore him. He leads them to pillage their own churches, even rob small priories of their altar cloths and candlesticks. He makes a mockery of the Mass. It is even said that they conduct orgies as a part of their services.”
“Really?” The other three leaned toward him.
“But I didn’t witness any,” Astrolabe finished.
They leaned back.
“Where are the lords, the advocates for the monks?” Edgar wanted to know.
“That’s what I don’t understand.” Astrolabe tapped his cup, reminding Catherine that it was empty again. “It’s true that there’s been confusion in the land since the death of the count, but the local lords
should be concerned enough to capture this man and disperse his followers. It wouldn’t take many to do it. Eon is connected to a very minor noble family, but even they are trying to convince him to stop this insanity and return to them. And yet, they do no more than that.”
“But these people have destroyed property!” Catherine exclaimed. “Despoiled churches! Are they so dangerous that the knights of Brittany fear to attack them?”
“I don’t know,” Astrolabe nearly shouted his frustration. “It makes no sense to me. I saw no warriors among the throng that follow this man, only poor, half-starved peasants. But, since no one seems able to stop them, I’ve come to Paris to ask the pope to send a legate to force the barons of Brittany to do their duty.”
“Do you think this bizarre heresy might spread?” Maurice asked.
“If no one counters it, why not?” Astrolabe answered. “The harvest has been bad the past two years, and there’s been too much rain this spring. People are hungry and desperate. Eon gives them a fantasy of some sort, an illusion of prosperity. And, perhaps he is in league with demons who have clouded the minds of those who should speak out against him.”
They all considered this. It seemed the only plausible answer.
“I wish we could blame the body in the counting room on demons.” Catherine sighed.
“You have a body in your house?” Astrolabe and Maurice both blessed themselves hurriedly.
“Not anymore,” Edgar hastened to assure them.
He explained what had happened. Both men were as puzzled as Catherine and Edgar.
“But if the Knights of the Temple have claimed him, it’s their problem now,” Maurice said.
“I wish I could believe that,” Edgar answered. “Master Evrard told us that we might be of some help to him. I translate that as meaning he thinks we know more than we do.”
“Anyway,” Catherine added, “it’s our house that’s been desecrated by this. I want to know who did it and why.”
“Of course you do, Catherine.” Astrolabe grinned at her. “You never could pass up a puzzle.”
“I know.” Catherine bit her lip, thinking. Then she got up and went to the kitchen to ask Samonie to have the bread brought out and the soup poured into it.
It wasn’t just the unwelcome homecoming they had received that bothered her. That was certainly upsetting. She knew she’d be scrubbing that room for months. It was more everything around them. The whole world was unsettled. People were leaving for an expedition to the Holy Land knowing no more than that they should face the east, relying on faith to get them there and back safely. Others were turning completely from all they had been taught, believing instead in new gods invented by deluded fools. Starvation threatened all around them from the barren fields and ignorant preachers were there to addle the minds of those already weakened by hunger. Bands of ruffians were attacking Jews and forcing them to baptism or death. And her own father had turned his back on the true faith, leaving his family behind. The order of the universe had been rearranged.
Perhaps these are the end times, she thought. The world is preparing to be swept clean for the coming of Christ.
The idea made her shiver, and she scolded herself for falling prey to melancholia again.
“A good dose of valerian and chamomile before bed,” she said. “That will do it.”
“Do what?” Samonie stopped hacking a trough in the bread.
“Nothing,” Catherine answered. “Here, I’ll take the soup pot. Has Margaret gone up already?”
“Yes, and she hardly ate anything,” Samonie answered. “Is the poor girl ill?”
“Just tired, I imagine,” Catherine said absently.
She wrapped two kitchen cloths around her hands and lifted the pot, then walked carefully back into the hall, where Martin had set up a small table for the four of them.
The three men were laughing about something when she returned. Martin leaped forward to take the pot from her, and Catherine came and sat beside Edgar.
Her sense of foreboding vanished in the comfort of old friends. They told stories of the foibles of the masters of Paris, the debates and
the legends of students now grown into bishops. It reminded Catherine of the time she and Edgar had lived in a rickety room near the great market square, just the two of them and whoever came to share their meal. It had been good to know that they could come back to her father’s house to warmth and clean clothes if they needed. It had been better to have a room all to themselves with no servants and no family to overhear.
That reminded her of her present duty.
“And where are you staying, Astrolabe?” she asked.
His handsome face reddened. “Well, I had hoped, that is, Edgar mentioned, you see, all the monastic guest rooms are full with the pope here and …”
“I had hoped you’d stay with us.” Catherine took his hand. “I swear this by the broken bones of the protomartyr. You may stay as long as you like, or until the noise of the Vikings and Vandals drives you away.”
“The what?”
“Our children and my brother’s,” Catherine said. “They’ll arrive tomorrow. But tonight, at least, we can promise you undisturbed rest.”
 
The moon had set and the house was dark as deadly sin when something woke Astrolabe.
He rolled over in his blankets and mumbled, “Wha’?”
Silence.
Then a rustling in the reeds on the floor.
“Rats.” Astrolabe said.
He groped beneath the cot they had set up for him in the hall. After a few tries he found his boot and threw it forcefully in the direction of the noise. There was a thump, a clank, and a simultaneous high-pitched squeal. The rustling stopped.
With a satisfied sigh, Astrolabe pulled the blanket over his head and went back to sleep.
He was awakened the next morning by warm, moist breath on his face. He opened his eyes. Two little girls were standing next to the cot, peering at him curiously.
“Good morning,” he said.
They both jumped back quickly, the younger one falling on her bottom.
“Mabile! Edana!” a voice called. “I told you not to go in there. The guest is still sleeping.”
A woman appeared at the door. She was in her early thirties, with a gentle face. Astrolabe sat up and reached for his
brais.
“It must be late,” he apologized. “I didn’t mean to inconvenience the family.”
“No, we’re early,” Marie answered. “The children were all up before first light, so we left at sunrise. I haven’t heard the bells for Tierce, yet. I’ll take these naughty girls and leave you in peace. I beg your pardon for disturbing you. Girls!”
The little one, Mabile, was squatting in the corner. Edana, who had finally mastered the chamber pot, was trying to make her cousin stop. She pulled at Mabile’s hands and the two of them fell over. Edana shrieked and Marie rushed to her.
“Mabile, what did you do to her?” She picked up both children. “Edana, stop that noise. Your cousin can’t have hurt you that badly.”
Then Marie saw the blood pouring down Edana’s leg.
“Sweet Virgin’s tears! How did that happen?”
She quickly unwound her scarf and wrapped it about Edana’s thigh at the same time calling for help.
Samonie ran in from the kitchen, but Astrolabe was there first.
“She’s cut herself,” Marie said. “It looks deep. One of the rushes must have been sharp. Can you take Mabile? I don’t want her rooting around here.”
Gingerly, Astrolabe picked up the little girl, holding her at arm’s length. He was relieved when Samonie took her from him.
Marie was busy trying to stop both the bleeding and Edana’s cries, which were escalating. Astrolabe bent over the place where she had fallen, looking for the thing that had cut her.
He found it right next to the boot he had thrown the night before. It wasn’t a floor rush.
It was a knife.
The hall of Catherine and Edgar’s home. Morning, Friday, 7 ides of May (May 9) 1147; 9 Sivan, 4907. Feast of Saint Soulange, shepherd girl, who died fighting off a noble rapist. The reason this made her a saint isn’t quite clear.
 
Iam enim sitio, oteroque vorator panum in siccitate strangulari, nisi clementia vestra michi vinum povideat. Hoc utique vobis paratius est quam caelia, quae a nostratibus [sic] usu vulgaria cervisia nuncupatur. Ego tamen utriusque bibax sum, et non abhorreo quicquid inebriare potest.
 
But now I am thirsty and it is possible that I may choke from the dryness of your loaves unless you, in your mercy, give me wine, which is more available to you than caelia, which we vulgarly call beer. But I will drink both and do not disdain anything that will make me drunk.
 
—John of Salisbury
Letter 33 to Peter, Abbot of Celle
 
 
C
atherine recognized Edana’s cry from upstairs. She raced down at once, pulling a long
chainse
over her head as she went.
“What is it?” she cried, scooping the child from Marie’s arms.
“A knife cut,” Marie said. “But it’s not deep. Samonie is making up a bread-and-honey poultice.”
“Oh, good. That should protect the cut,” Catherine said. “All we need to do is keep her from eating the poultice. How did she come by a knife?”
Astrolabe showed it to her.
“It’s a meat knife that was left among the rushes,” he said. “It’s not mine. The design on the handle is unfamiliar.”
“It doesn’t belong to the house,” Catherine said after examining it. “The handle is deer horn, with a star design near the blade. Anyone recognize it? Samonie?”
“No,” the woman said as she put the poultice on Edana’s leg and wrapped cloth around it. “Perhaps one of Lord Guillaume’s men dropped it.”
“They weren’t in here this morning,” Astrolabe said. “At least I don’t think so. But I’ll ask.”
As he left he passed Edgar, who had just come down, having taken time to dress and put on shoes. Catherine explained to him what had happened. With a whimper of “Papa,” Edana held out her arms, sure of extra comfort. He spent a moment cuddling her and finished with a tickle as Astrolabe returned.
“None of the sergeants has seen it before,” he told them. “Perhaps it was left by your father?”
He was beginning to suspect where the knife had come from, but he clung to the hope that he was wrong.
“Samonie!” Edgar called to her as she was going back to the kitchen. “The floors were bare when we got here, I remember. You just put the rushes down a day or two ago, is that right?”
“Yes, Master Edgar,” she said. “There was nothing there then. I would have noticed.”
“What are you thinking,
carissime
?” Catherine asked.
“Of those men who were in the garden,” he answered. “They didn’t find what they were looking for. Perhaps I need to set guards down by the creek at night.”
“Strangers in the house?” The idea made Catherine’s stomach lurch. “And none of us woke?”
Astrolabe sighed.
“I’m afraid I did,” he admitted. “I thought it was a rat and only managed to come round long enough to throw a boot. There was a clank that may have been the knife dropping. Whoever it was must have been a natural thief, for I heard nothing more.”
“Was anything taken?” Catherine asked.
Everyone looked around, checking chests and shelves.
“Nothing has been disturbed,” Samonie told them. “Perhaps Master Astrolabe routed them with his boot.”
“Edgar, do you think this was one of the men we heard when we were sleeping in the garden?” Catherine asked.
“Well, I hope so.” Edgar set Edana down. “I wouldn’t like to think our home has become a Jerusalem for thieves.”
“But what could they be looking for?”
“It couldn’t be the body.” Edgar considered the question. “They must have realized we’d have found it by now. In another day the whole street would have smelled it. Yet the knight wore no valuable rings or brooches, and there was nothing in the counting room. I have no idea. But I’m posting guards in the back again until we find out.”
“What is all this noise? Can’t a man get any sleep in this town?”
They all looked up; Catherine’s brother was scowling at them all.
“All I wanted was a little rest since we got up so early to come here. I’d forgotten how many damn churches there are in Paris,” he
continued. “I wake up every time they ring the hours. Marie, I know you want to shop and visit your friends, but even one night of that infernal clanging and I’ll be rabid. You’d think they could at least all decide when Prime actually is.”
Marie laughed at him. “You poor thing! In Vielleteneuse we have no canons at the church so the nights are tranquil. How did you ever survive growing up here?”
“I only lived in Paris until I was eight,” Guillaume reminded her. “Then I went to live with my uncle. His keep in Blois was smaller even than ours, and
very
quiet.”
He said this last as his children came rushing down the steps at him.
It took some time before Guillaume understood what had happened in the night. When he did, his first impulse was to pack up his family and Catherine’s and set out back for Vielleteneuse.
“It’s all these mew people coming in,” he complained. “For every honest pilgrim or soldier of Christ, there are a hundred thieves, heretics and whores.”
“Not to mention the relic hawkers.” Catherine sighed, momentarily distracted from the issue. “Yesterday three people tried to sell me a bramble from the Crown of Thorns. You’d think they could be more creative. I could make the whole crown myself out of the overgrowth in our garden.”
“Bloodstained as well, I’d imagine.” Astrolabe grinned.
“True,” Catherine said. “I couldn’t do it without being covered with scratches.”
“Catherine,” her brother interrupted, “the point is that you all should abandon the city until the army has left. It’s not safe for any of you, especially Edgar’s sister.”
Before either Catherine or Margaret could answer, Edgar stepped in.
“Thank you, Guillaume, but if I must remain in Paris, the family stays together,” he said.
Catherine nodded agreement.
“And I must stay in Paris,” Edgar added. “I have to take up my new position here. Your father arranged for me to be accepted by the
water merchants and the wine sellers, but I if can’t deal with them from the safety of your keep.”
“You really intend to keep up Father’s trade?” Guillaume was incredulous. “You’re a nobleman! And what about Margaret? What would Count Thibault say?”
“I have no idea,” Edgar answered. “But unless you have a better means for us to earn our daily bread … ?”
Guillaume fell silent. They all knew the revenues from his castellany weren’t enough to support another family. The truth was that it had been Hubert who supplied his son with a number of the luxuries Guillaume believed his position required, such as fine hawks and tooled leather saddles.
“Master?”
It was a moment before Edgar remembered that he was now master in this house. He turned his attention to the boy in the doorway.
“What is it, Martin?”
“Two men have come to see you,” the boy answered. “A Knight of the Temple and a rich cleric, by the look of him. What shall I do with them?”
It was a good question. The hall where visitors would normally be received was now crowded with family, as well as Astrolabe’s bedding.
“Take them up to the counting room,” Catherine suggested. “They may want to see where the body was found. The books are all locked away, so they won’t be able to snoop in our accounts.”
“Yes, that will have to do,” Edgar said. “Show them up, Martin. And then bring two more folding chairs. Samonie, will you take some refreshment to them?”
“Of course.” The housekeeper bowed to hide her smile. She wasn’t about to let the men leave without getting a good look at them.
“Tell them I’ll meet with them directly,” Edgar added.
“You mean
‘we’ll
meet with them,’ don’t you?” Catherine asked. “I want to know what they’ve found out about our body, too.”
“Catherine, you can’t receive these men,” Edgar told her. “They’re from the Temple commander.”
“What do you mean?” Catherine was indignant. “Aren’t I the mistress here?”
“Catherine,” Astrolabe interjected mildly. “No one is denying your authority. I believe Edgar was commenting on the fact that you’re wearing nothing but your shift.”
Catherine looked down. Her bare toes wiggled back at her.
“Oh,” she said.
 
The men were clearly not happy about being taken up to a bare room in the middle of the house. When Edgar entered a few moments later, followed by Samonie with a tray, neither of them bothered to stand to greet him.
The cleric removed his glove to take the cup of wine. He waited until Samonie had left before he spoke.
“I am Master Durand,” he said. “One of the chaplains to the brothers of the Temple of Solomon, and this is Brother Baudwin. We are here to investigate the death of one we assume to be of the Order.”
Edgar bowed, ignoring their manners. “I am Edgar of Wedderlie, master of this house. Have you discovered the identity of the man, yet?”
“No,” Brother Baudwin said.
Master Durand interrupted him. “His identity is still unknown. However, we expect to uncover the truth shortly.”
There was a knock at the door. Martin came in, carrying another folding chair, followed by Catherine, who was now decently covered.
“My wife, Catherine, daughter of Hubert LeVendeur,” Edgar said.
Still the men stayed seated. Catherine raised her eyebrows.
“Welcome to our home,” she said too smoothly. “Martin, please set my chair next to Edgar’s.”
She smiled at the men in a way that put Edgar immediately on his guard. “Would you like a poppyseed cake?”
She offered them the tray. Brother Baudwin took one and stuffed it quickly into his mouth, leaving crumbs in his beard.
“Now, how may we help you?” Catherine smiled again.
Brother Baudwin looked to Master Durand, who returned the
smile and muttered in Latin to the knight, “These two should pose no problem. I’ll soon know if they’re lying.”
Baudwin seemed not to understand, but Catherine did. Her eyes widened in surprise and anger. She opened her mouth to respond. Quickly Edgar took a cake and gave it to her, with a warning look.
“Really, my dear.” Master Durand leaned forward with a patronizing expression. “This is a nasty business and nothing you need trouble yourself about.”
This was too much. Catherine dropped the mask.
“Having spent the past two days scrubbing the blood and ichor from this room, as well as killing the maggots, I have already been troubled. Now I want to know who this man was and why he was left here.”
The chaplain looked at her sharply and then to Edgar. Catherine was aware of his outrage and didn’t care.
“Master Durand?” she prompted.
Both men straightened. Brother Baudwin finished brushing out the crumbs with his fingers.
“We were sent here to ask you that,” he answered for them both. “Commander Evrard isn’t satisfied with your explanation of the discovery of the body.”
“Really?” Edgar stood. “I find that as amazing as the fact that you’ve managed to offend both me and my wife in the initial moments of your visit.”
He went to the door and opened it.
“Martin!” he called. “Our guests are leaving.”
Baudwin and Durand both got to their feet but not to depart.
“How dare you refuse to answer to us!” Durand said, trying to pull himself up to meet Edgar’s eyes. He was several inches too short. “We’ll have you taken to the Temple for questioning!”
Behind him Catherine laughed.
“You’re not in Antioch or Jerusalem, Master Durand,” she said. “You can’t drag citizens of Paris from their homes. The king would have something to say about that.”
Durand snorted. “I’m sure the king would respect the wishes of
the commander of the Temple, especially since he’s relying on us to guide him to the Holy Land.”
Edgar had had enough.
“We shall be happy to test your hypothesis, Master Durand.” He held the door open. “I assure you that respect is something I expect to both give and receive in my dealings with others. When you are prepared to offer it, my wife and I will give you our full attention and aid.”
BOOK: To Wear The White Cloak: A Catherine LeVendeur Mystery
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